


Cheaters Never Prosper (Except When They Do)

by mitslits



Series: Prompts [20]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, gangster au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5011540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>merhartwin prompt nsfw: all the kingsman candidates cheat. some are related to the knights, others bribe, others blackmail (or try to). eggsy sucks off his mentor and his trainer, and he's very, very good at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheaters Never Prosper (Except When They Do)

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this and just thought '1920 gangster AU' so that's what I wrote. And it got way out of hand.

Everyone knows about the Kingsmen, but nobody can stop them. They’re the most notorious gang of criminals this side of London, and there’s no question that they own a great many more cities besides. It’s all about the connections.

The thing about the Kingsmen is that a random shoot-’em-up can’t just stroll his way on through the doors, take up a hat, hang his coat on the doorway, and add their pin to his lapel. A Kingsman has to _earn_ his place. Being what they are, that usually means through rather unsavory means. Not a one of them got to where they are through flattery or honest work and not a one of them ever will.

To be a Kingsman you have to cheat.

Fuck the system. Or an agent. Go screaming through the cobbled streets with guns blazing and make it out on the other side. Scheme your way into it.

Or, if you’re like Eggsy, figure out that both your mentor and your trainer are hot for that mouth of yours and put it to good use. 

His mother called him Eggsy and his stepfather said it’s cause he’s rotten. And, yeah, he can’t really argue with that, not when his pay rate is determined by how light his fingers on are on any given day. Still, he gets by well enough that way, quick with his hands and disarming with his smile, learning early on that charming grin is enough to get people looking at something other than their pockets.

Petty theft isn’t the only vice he’s fallen into; suffice to say there aren’t a lot of things he considers ‘beneath’ him. Besides, how good can one possibly be when one’s role model is a notorious group of gun-slinging gangsters?

He admires the Kingsmen, loves the way they can swipe a get-out-of-jail free card in two shakes, be back on the streets after filling a man full of holes like it never happened. Records wiped as clean as the days they were born. Rap sheets nonexistent. Reputation terrifying. He sits and stares at the bars of the holding cell and thinks how nice that all must be.

Never in a million years did he think he’d be here, crouched under the table in a diner as another body thuds to the floor. The Kingsman’s eyes focus on him, finding him as if he were a flashing neon light despite what attempts he’d made to hide. “On your feet. I like a man to die standing,” he says coolly, as if he’s not standing in the middle of a self-made massacre.

Curling his hands into fists to keep them from shaking, Eggsy rises to his feet, lifting his chin and staring him square in the eye. With his good eye, at least. The other is swelled shut, still stinging from the fist it had been introduced to earlier.

Something about him seems to give the gangster pause. “And how’d you get that? I think I would’ve remembered punching a face as pretty as yours,” he mutters contemplatively, narrowing as eyes as if, maybe, somehow, he can bring up that particular memory despite it never existing.

“You didn’t,” Eggsy says, taking a fierce pride in the way his voice stays as steady as a rock even in the face of a gun barrel. “‘E did.” He nudges one of the prone forms on the floor with the of his shoe, giving him a disdainful look.

“A little fight among friends?” the man asks one eyebrow raising slightly.

Eggsy shakes his head enthusiastically. “Weren’t friends, bruv. That lot there would’ve had a field day with me if you ain’t showed up.”

To his surprise (and, admittedly, relief) the man lowers the barrel of the gun until it’s pointing harmlessly at the floor. “Am I to assume that you weren’t a part of their business, then?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, and the very real threat still standing in front of him, one corner of Eggsy’s mouth quirks up into a cheeky grin. “Think that’d be a safe bet, bruv.”

For a split second, the gangster smiles in return before he schools his face into a sterner expression. “I suppose, then, I can let you live.” There’s no harm in it, he supposes. Even if the boy grasses on them there’s not a copper alive who would dare to tangle with him. More than likely the kid himself would just go to jail under suspicion of involvement, once it was made clear that he wasn’t actually associated with them. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Eggsy,” Eggsy replies without hesitation.

The gangster reaches into his pocket and pulls something out, flicking it casually over to Eggsy.

Reflexively, he catches it, opening his hand to study the small object resting on his palm. His eyes widen as he sees the Kingsmen’s signature, a small pin in the form of a circle crossed by a ‘K’. “Why’re you givin’ me-” He falls quiet as he looks up and realizes there isn’t anyone there anymore. The diner is empty.

-

The pin burns a hole in his pocket for the next month and a half and he doesn’t get any closer to figuring out what to do with it. Despite the extensive network the Kingsmen possesses that doesn’t mean it’s easy to find a member. Not that finding a member would even guarantee him anything. Groaning, Eggsy buries his head in his arms, closing his fingers around the pin for the millionth time.

After a bit, he hauls himself to his feet, glancing out the window at the darkening roads, the first of the street lamps just starting to flicker on. There are things to be done in the dark. Slipping out of the flat is an easy thing, even if they are four floors up. All it takes is a solid hold on the windowsill, a quick drop down to the balcony below, a swing off of it to the thick ivy climbing the walls, an easy leap to the dumpster below and then a quick drop to the pavement. Couldn’t be simpler.

He sticks his hands in his pockets, fingers brushing over the edges of the circle that’s never off his person. A few blocks from his flat and gunfire stops him in his tracks. There’s a rapid burst, a shriek, and footsteps come pounding in his direction. His heart beats faster as a shadowy figure rounds the corner (looks like a woman, can’t be sure), another one right after her.

She spots him, reaches for him, turns in his direction- and falls to the ground with an agonized scream, spots of blood blooming like flowers on her blouse.

Eggsy’s eyes jerk to the man who’s gunned her down, who’s now aiming at him, who’s curling his finger around the trigger. “Wait!” he says, voice cracking. He yanks the pin out of his pocket and throws it up in front of him like a shield. “Kingsman, I’m a Kingsman.”

It’s like he’s pressed a pause button. Inch by inch, the man lowers the gun, not coming any closer, but not moving either. “Where did you get that?” he asks, voice deep and unfamiliar and… slightly Scottish?

“I-I told you, I’m a Kingsman,” Eggsy blurts out, barely even thinking about how he shouldn’t be lying about something as big as this. He just wants to get out alive.

The figure chuckles, but it’s not a pleasant sound. “I assure you, I know all the members here in London. You’re not one of them.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, of course tonight would be the night he found another Kingsman. “Well, I didn’t mean I _am_ a Kingsman, really, more like I, uh, met one once,” he mutters, but it’s too late to backtrack out of it.

“I can see that. Most men don’t go around with Kingsmen pins in their pockets.” He falls silent for a moment and Eggsy waits for the worst. “Come with me. It seems I have to ask one of my agents a few questions.”

Eggsy jerks his head up and he casts a quick glance back in the direction of his flat. His mum will worry if he’s not back by morning. Then he notices the man moving off out of the corner of his eye, not looking back over his shoulder to see if Eggsy is following. With a deep breath, he starts moving, hurrying after him.

-

This is a dream, it has to be. He, Eggsy Unwin, is not standing in the dark concrete basement of a seemingly empty warehouse, is not surrounded by a group of well-dressed men with slicked back hair and wary eyes, is not seeking out the one familiar face the crowd is sure to hold. But he doesn’t see him. He can’t find the man he met in the diner and doubt takes a hold of his heart. What if that had been some guy who just happened to have a Kingsman pin? That wasn’t possible, right? But then again, hadn’t that been exactly what he was?

Fuck.

“I’d like to know which one of you is going around so carelessly giving out our signature,” the man, whose accent is distinctly Scottish now, says, iron grip on Eggsy’s shoulder, holding him in the front of the room.

Only silence meets his accusation and his fingers dig in just a little further. They’re all looking at Eggsy and he feels his skin growing hot under their gaze. He wants to squirm, but he forces himself to stay still, refusing to show any sign that the pressure might be getting to him. 

There’s an angry huff and the man grits out, “Come on, one of you must have. Out with it or I’ll be tempted to shoot one of you just for a little bit of motivation.”

A slight rustle of movement sweeps through the crowd and Eggsy isn’t entirely sure the threat is empty. Judging by the looks on some of their faces, it’s pretty viable.

“Now tell me, _who gave the boy our pin_?”

“That would be me,” comes from the doorway and everyone shifts their gazes to look.

Eggsy even risks craning his head back over his shoulder, nearly sagging in relief when he sees the gangster from before. So he wasn’t just some guy, after all. He’s quickly reminded that he’s not yet out of danger by the other gangster’s sigh.

“Harry. I should have known,” he mutters, and it’s clear from his tone of voice that this is not the first time something like this has happened.

Harry gives him a smirk before turning his eyes on Eggsy. “I’m surprised you didn’t find me sooner, Eggsy. A little disappointed as well,” he chastises.

It takes a second before Eggsy realizes he’s expected to reply. “Oh… uh, well, I looked for ya, but I was… busy.” It’s a terrible excuse, not even an excuse, really, but Harry just rolls his eyes.

“Let him go, Merlin. I’ve brought him here, or, more accurately, _you’ve_ brought him here so I can suggest him as a proposal.”

Eggsy isn’t sure who’s more surprised, him or Merlin. Given that he’s still in the process of picking his jaw up off the floor when Merlin starts spouting off about how utterly ridiculous that is, he’s going to go with him.

“What in hell makes you think he’s got anything it takes to be a Kingsman?” Merlin splutters, turning a critical eye on him.

Harry shrugs, casually leaning up against the wall and crossing one leg over the other. “I watched him clean out the pockets of no less than seven people over the course of ten minutes and he hardly blinked when I made to shoot him,” he explains. His easy smirk turns wicked. “And I like the look of him.”

Something burning in his eyes makes Eggsy want to blush and look down at the ground like he’s a fucking schoolgirl or something, but he forces himself to meet Harry’s eyes instead. The man’s grin grows fractionally wider at that.

Merlin sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, but he hasn’t dismissed the idea right off yet, which Eggsy takes as a good sign.

“I ain’t bad with my fists neither,” he puts in, trying to sound more confident than he feels.

Merlin’s eyes snap to him, make him want to take it back, but there’s no way he can now. A long, tense silence spins out until Merlin glances at the assembled mobsters, seeking out one face in particular. “Roxanne. You’re new to our ranks. Why don’t you come up here and put Eggsy to the test?”

Brow furrowing at ‘Roxanne’, Eggsy turns to see who, exactly, he’s going to be fighting. And nearly chokes. A young woman, probably about as old as he is, is rising to her feet, hair tied neatly back, suit just as elegant as anyone else’s. “I can’t hit her,” he protests. “She’s a girl.”

“She’s not a girl, she’s a Kingsman,” Harry counters, watching the proceedings with interest. “And I’d encourage you not to underestimate her,” he adds.

Eggsy doesn’t think he would have underestimated her even without Harry’s comment. There’s something in the way she walks, something in her eyes that says she’s fought every step of the way to get where she is and she’s not giving it up anytime soon.

She comes to a halt in front of him, eyeing him up. “Roxanne Morton,” she greets him, sticking her hand out.

Hesitantly, Eggsy gives her a nervous almost-smile-more-a-grimace. “Eggsy,” he says, taking her hand in hers-

And doubling over as she tightens her grip and yanks him forwards, driving her knee into his gut. Lightning fast, she slips around to his side and drives the point of her foot right into his kidney.

Pain lances through his side and he collapses to the ground, wanting nothing more than to curl up and make himself as small as he can, wrap his arms around his legs to keep her feet away from his soft stomach. But that wouldn’t prove anything. Instead he forces himself to stay where he is until she comes for him again, reaching down to grab for his neck. He surges up, feeling a twinge of satisfaction as the top of his head comes into contact with the bottom of her jaw, sending her reeling backward.

Her hand flies to her cheek and she spits blood onto the floor, glaring at him in earnest now. “Oh, fuck you,” she snarls, watching him warily as she shifts her weight.

His instincts are beginning to kick in and Eggsy does his best to stay relaxed, moving on his feet lightly, not wanting to be tied down in any one place. Roxy acts first, swinging for his face, and he leans backwards, flexibility the only thing stopping him from falling back on his arse. He throws himself forward again, using the momentum to bend forward slightly and pile-drive right into her. He’s under no illusions about his strengths and weaknesses here. If he tries to outpace her, he’s going to lose. She’s slimmer and faster than him, but he’s got more pound for pound and he intends to use.

The breath huffs out of her chest as he slams into her, forces her backwards. She rakes her nails down his back, scrabbling for some sort of purchase.

The marks sting, but not enough to stop him and he doesn’t halt until she’s backed up against a wall. He gets his hand around her throat, forcing her head back even as she kicks viciously at his shins, nails digging into his skin. His hold only tightens until she’s gasping and then he lets go, letting her slump back against the concrete.

“You… you win,” she admits once she can speak again, giving him a nod. “Fair and square.”

Wincing as he steps back (his muscles aren’t going to like him in the morning and he can already feel bruises forming) he rubs the back of his neck. “Gonna be pissin’ blood for a couple days, though,” he mutters, thinking ruefully of his aching kidney.

She chuckles breathlessly, no trace of resentment in her face, despite the loss.

Eggsy turns back to face Harry and Merlin. He can’t read either of their faces and instantly anxiety washes over him again. It’s only instinct that has him reaching up to grab the pin out of the air when Merlin tosses it to him.

“We’ll consider you.” 

-

Eggsy is told he’ll have to stay with one of the senior members until he’s officially accepted or rejected. Harry, it just so happens, is one of those senior members. A small spark of excitement flares deep in his abdomen at the thought of staying in the same house as a Kingsman gangster. 

It dies out a little bit when he sees just a plain old house come into view. His disappointment must show because Harry gives him a knowing look and rests a hand briefly on his shoulder. “Expecting something more, perhaps?” he asks, sliding out of the taxi without paying the driver. 

Eggsy glances back at the man, who desperately looks like he wants to say something, but just drives off in the end, and then grins broadly. “Nope.” That right there had been worth it all. 

He saunters in like he owns the place, much more comfortable around Harry than he has any right to be given that he’s really only met the man twice. “So where am I sleepin’?” he asks, automatically casing the place. A habit formed out of unfortunate necessity. 

“There’s a guest room upstairs,” Harry informs him, sweeping off his coat and hat, placing them on the coat rack, and giving Eggsy his first real look at the way his suit fits him. 

It’s like it’s got a mind and knows exactly what it’s doing, accentuating his lean muscles, tightening in all the right places to send Eggsy’s mind scurrying into the gutters. “H-how long you think it’ll take for Merlin to decide?” he asks, coughing a bit to disguise his brief lapse in eloquence. 

Harry shrugs, wandering past him to collapse on the sofa, reaching for the scotch bottle and glass already set out on the small table to the side. “He might very well have decided already. It’s not only his decision, you know.” 

“It isn’t?” Eggsy follows Harry into the sitting room, sprawling into a comfortable-looking armchair that turns out to be just as nice as he’d thought it would. 

Harry measures out half a glass and tosses it back before he answers. “All of the senior members vote.” 

“Like you.” 

“Like me.” 

Eggsy sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing on it as he processes that. It’s then that he notices the way Harry is watching that movement, rather more closely than someone normally would he thinks. An idea worms its way into his head, half-formed whole-stupid, but something anyways. He lets his bottom lip fall away from his teeth, runs his tongue over instead, still seemingly deep in thought. 

Something sharpens in Harry’s gaze, goes even sharper when Eggsy lets his legs fall open just slightly, naturally. 

Crime’s all about cheating the system, innit? 

He waits for his moment, watches Harry pour himself another glass of scotch, bring it to his lips. “Gimme some of that,” he demands, moving over to sit beside him just as the last of it disappears into Harry’s mouth. 

Harry sets the glass aside with a small, apologetic smile. “Had I known you wanted some I would’ve-”

He’s silenced by the sudden weight of Eggsy in his lap, lips meeting with a soft sigh. Taking advantage of his moment of surprise, Eggsy works his tongue past Harry’s lips, licking the taste of the alcohol out of his mouth. As abruptly as he started, he stops, sitting back on Harry’s legs and dragging his tongue over his lips, humming appreciatively. “‘S good,” he says. It’s nearly impossible to miss the hardening of Harry’s cock under his arse or the way his eyes darken when Eggsy bites his lip. He trails his hand down Harry’s chest until he’s palming his erection. Leaning forward, he brings his mouth close to Harry’s ear so he only has to whisper. “But I bet you taste better.” 

Eggsy suddenly finds hands in his hair, tugging his head back almost painfully until he finds Harry’s gaze again. 

“Don’t make promises you don’t intend on keeping,” Harry warns him, looking positively _mad_ with lust. 

Eggsy disengages himself from Harry’s grip, moving to stand. “Who said I wasn’t gonna keep it?” His hands curl around the lapels of his suit, hauling him up and bringing their mouths together again. 

Letting himself be manhandled (especially by some young upstart) isn’t on Harry’s usual list of things to do, but he figures he can let it go this once. So it is that he finds himself being walked forwards, hands cupping Eggsy’s face, tongue exploring every inch of his mouth until he’s swung around, back thudding against the wall they’re suddenly near. 

Eggsy works his way into Harry’s trousers, popping open the button and unzipping them so he can take him in hand, getting him the rest of the way there until he’s straining against the slacks. That’s when he drops to his knees. 

The sudden loss of Eggsy’s mouth has Harry opening his eyes, pupils blowing wide when he takes in the sight of him kneeling, already guiding him out of his trousers. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, bruv,” Eggsy says, pausing at that to lean forward and mouth at Harry’s cock through the thin fabric of his pants. “I’m gonna suck you off.” Another pause, wherein he tugs the blasted boxers out of the way. “I’m gonna suck Merlin off.” He grabs his cock, flicking his tongue once, briefly, over the head of it. “An’ then I’m gonna get into Kingsman. Yeah?” This time when he stops he looks up, hand still wrapped around Harry. 

Harry, somehow managing to keep his composure despite all this, just arches one eyebrow. “If you’re good.” 

Eggsy’s not going to be good. He’s going to be the best. He going’s to be so goddamn fantastic that no other mouth is ever going to satisfy Harry again. At least, he hopes so. He places a kiss to the head of Harry’s cock before winking cheekily up at him. “If I’m good.” He lets his hand fall so he can run his tongue along the full length of him, taking his time, dragging it just a little more roughly over the sensitive pink skin at the head. He circles his tongue around it a couple of times before licking up the underside of him, flicking lightly over his balls, and swallowing down a smirk of satisfaction of the small gasp that jerks out of Harry. 

“One thing I might’ve forgotten to mention,” he says lightly, drawing away just enough so he can look back up at him. “I ain’t gonna blow you. You’re gonna fuck me.” Yes, that had been exactly the right thing to say and Eggsy let out an internal sigh of relief. Without wasting any more time, he slid his lips around him, taking just the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth. He sought out Harry’s hands and threaded them into his hair, bracing his hands on the older man’s thighs and nodding as best he could. 

Harry, thankfully, starts out slowly, letting him adjust to each new inch before pushing in a little bit further. He keeps expecting the younger man to stop him, his fingers to dig into his legs as a silent indication that he can’t take any more, but Eggsy, it seems, is full of surprises. He doesn’t stop until Eggsy’s nose is resting against the hard muscles of his stomach, his full length enveloped by his deliciously wet heat. At a strangled moan from Eggsy he pulls back out until only the tip is still there before sliding back in, same pace as before. 

And when he feels like Eggsy’s gotten used to that he goes faster, cock moving easily in and out of his mouth, spit-slicked as it is. The sight of Eggsy’s glistening red lips stretched wide around his shaft has his breath catching in his throat before too long, the choked moans he’s making encouraging him on until he’s truly and thoroughly fucking him. 

Eggsy keeps up with him, gliding his tongue along his shaft every time it moves, careful to keep his lips curled over his teeth. He can feel his own cock swelling, precome dampening his pants. It’s only possible to ignore it for so long and soon he’s letting go of Harry with one hand, feeling the fingers in his hair tighten in response. His hand offers some much needed relief and he lets out another broken moan. 

Harry’s hips stutter once at that and he can feel how close he’s getting. He thrusts into Eggsy’s mouth a few more times before stumbling back against the wall, ready to finish in his own hand. 

But Eggsy isn’t having any of that. He chases after Harry, batting his hands away and taking him back down, bobbing his head to keep up the near-brutal pace Harry had set. 

“Eggsy,” Harry groans, unable to hold himself back any longer. He spills down Eggsy’s throat with a low moan, hands falling away from his hair. 

Eggsy swallows down every drop, running his tongue over Harry’s slit before pulling off of him with a wet pop and licking his lips to make sure he’s truly gotten everything. 

Hands are on his shoulders, hauling him up, one dropping to wrap around his cock, stroking him to his own climax. He comes into Harry’s hand with a low, keening cry, shuddering in his grasp. 

They stand together like that for a few moments, both needing a chance to catch their breath. Eggsy’s mouth feels thoroughly used and his cock thoroughly satisfied. But he’s not the concern here. “Good enough for Kingsmen?” he asks breathlessly. 

“My dear boy,” Harry chuckles, hand curling around the nape of his neck. “You were the best.” 

-

Eggsy doesn’t get the chance to see Merlin for a few days, which gives his mouth time to recover, at least. He’s still got half a promise to fulfill. The next time he goes to the warehouse it’s for the meeting where his fate will be decided. He makes sure to get there half an hour early when Harry informs him that Merlin is more than punctual. 

He’s the only one there when Eggsy arrives and he glances over at him when he strides in. “Feeling confident, are we?” he asks wryly. 

Eggsy shrugs one shoulder. “A bit nervous, actually,” he admits, and it’s mostly the truth. Merlin’s vote is critical and he needs to get it. He spreads out in one of the available chairs, putting himself on display. “So, wanna tell me what you’re thinkin’?” he asks, slight edge of anxiety to his voice to really sell it. 

For a moment there’s nothing and Eggsy begins to doubt he’ll even answer. “I think that you lack subtlety and finesse.” He glances meaningfully at the sprawled out posture he’s assumed and raises his eyebrows. “Killing is an art, not a brutality and the way you bulled yourself during that fight with Roxy… It doesn’t make a good impression.” 

Eggsy sits up attentively, closing his legs. “An’ if I showed you I could be, I dunno, delicate or some shit, that would convince you?” he asks eagerly. 

Merlin nods and that’s all the encouragement he needs. 

Slowly, he rises out of the chair, making his way over to Merlin with a measured, even pace. “You know, bein’ a pickpocket does take a bit of subtlety there, bruv,” he points out. His fingers reach up to tentatively rest on the side of his neck, just skimming over the soft skin there. “An’ I think Harry mentioned something about me bein’ light-fingered.” 

“He did,” Merlin agrees, showing absolutely no reaction to having Eggsy so close. 

Eggsy swallows down a ball of nerves, uncertain about how best to approach this. “He also tell you about what we’ve been gettin’ up to?”

Merlin just shakes his head. 

“Think it’d be more interestin’ if I just showed you,” he breathes, leaning in to mouth at Merlin’s neck. It’s just a whisper at first, lips barely touching him. Then his head tilts slightly to one side and Eggsy connects, catching his skin between his teeth and biting down gently. He laves his tongue over the imprint they leave, fingers already trailing down to run along Merlin’s hip. 

Merlin doesn’t react beyond a slight deepening of his breath, maybe a slight canting of his body towards Eggsy’s. 

It’s reassuring enough for him to slide back around so he’s fully facing Merlin, holding his gaze as he slinks down his body until he comes to rest on his knees, face level with the line of his trousers. He flicks open the button and seeks out the zipper with his teeth, tugging it down with his lips. 

And he shows Merlin just how subtle he can be with gliding teeth and dancing lips and tongue just barely there. His fingers flutter from place to place, teasing out little breathless moans and gasps, the most Merlin will give him. 

Even his climax is understated, a seizing of his muscles, a relaxed sigh, and the last traces of it disappearing into Eggsy’s eager mouth. 

Eggsy doesn’t even come, just sits back in his chair and waits for the meeting to start. 

Eventually the room fills, gangsters giving him curious looks, wondering if they’ll be getting a new member that day. He trades glances with Harry and Merlin, unable to resist the urge to run his tongue over his lips and wink saucily. 

Needless to say, he gets to add a pin to his fancy new suit.


End file.
